


Stay

by sciencemyfiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Inspired by Fanart, Season 8 speculations, Spoilers through 8.22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencemyfiction/pseuds/sciencemyfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this fantastic piece of artwork and written on Tumblr. Since I imagine I will promptly lose it forever, I wanted to save it someplace where I can find it again. The piece: <a href="http://an-endless-secret.tumblr.com/post/50405161090/you-stayed">You Stayed</a> by an-endless-secret @ Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

In the aftermath of the failed trials to close off Hell and the (worse so much WORSE) successful ones to close off Heaven, in the wreckage and debris and the broken bodies, Dean is ripping his way through fallen timbers and drywall in a stupid mall in Detroit (we always knew it would be Detroit) searching for--

A body.

 _Anybody_.

\--for a sign of life amid the smoldering crater that was his entire life, and he finds (thank— thank you, thank you thankyou) Sam, finds a too-big, blistered hand and it grips him back (weakly) and he pulls, lifts, drags Sam out of the ruins piece by painstaking piece.

The bunker is still there, they bring Kevin and Charlie in because Sam needs intense care and Dean is afraid to leave him alone but he has to sleep sometime, right—

he has to sleep sometime.

And on

the third

morning,

there’s someone cooking in the kitchen (not Dean, because he is just waking up slumped over over research and an empty shotglass stained with scotch) and they aren’t humming, that would be Charlie.

They aren’t muttering, that would be Kevin,

They aren’t coughing, that would be--

\--and Dean steps into the kitchen just as the smell goes from savory to burnt, and snaps “Get your hands off of that!”

He’s still angry, still livid. He focuses on saving the onions, keeping them sauteed and not scorched, he adds the finely chopped green peppers, the eggs and the shredded cheese, and when hesitant (shaky, slightly shaky) hands enfold his waist, he stops for a moment

feels all the tension in the world building in his shoulders, like wings about to burst out of his skin

and he breathes, and the body behind him, holding its breath, lets out a shuddering sigh as it breathes as well, those hands gripping him (much) more tightly.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel rasps, in a voice that is faint, not much more than a whisper. He sounds sleepy, he looks like he was hit by a bus, and his grip is still weak, even though it’s desperate.

Dean lifts the pan off of the burner and risks a glance over his shoulder at this haggard figure waiting for him there, and clamps down on the emotion that bubbles up in his throat.

“You stayed,” he says, instead of anything else he could say, and it comes out in awe, half laughter, half guilt. “You stayed.”


End file.
